


i get a kick out of you

by dollsome



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 06:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6413494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rory and Paris don’t get to see each other so often these days, what with Rory on the campaign tour and Paris gloriously raging her way through med school. So when they do finally get the chance to see each other, well, it’s cause for celebration. Maybe too much celebration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i get a kick out of you

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this little fic like a year ago for a Tumblr prompt, and figured I should finally post it over here too! Written for the prompt "Capernoited - Slightly intoxicated or tipsy."
> 
> (Or, in the case of this story, slightly more than slightly.)

Rory and Paris don’t get to see each other so often these days, what with Rory on the campaign tour and Paris gloriously raging her way through med school. So when they do finally get the chance to see each other, well, it’s cause for celebration.

Maybe too much celebration.

“We drank … too much,” says Rory. There was at-dinner drinking and then at-the-bar drinking, and  _then_  there was sitting-on-Paris’s-living-room-floor-talking-and-drinking drinking and Rory is starting to realize that maybe, put together, that was just too much drinking.

“What are you talking about??” Paris thunders. “Are you accepting defeat? You can’t just accept defeat, Rory! This bottle is not the boss of us.”

“It’s the boss of me, because I’m defeated,” Rory says, slumping face-first down onto Paris’s coffeetable.

“Well, I’m not. I can chug this demon juice straight to hell, or my name’s not Baris Geller.”

“It’s not, though,” Rory points out helpfully. “Like, almost. But not quite.”

“It did sound off.” Paris sighs. Glumly, she accepts defeat and slumps down onto the coffeetable too. “We drank too much.”

“We’re going to feel so bad tomorrow,” Rory reflects, groaning.

“I’ll hold your hair back while you’re puking your guts out. I only ask that you extend the same courtesy to me.”

“Extend the same courtesy to you? Ooh, Baris talks very fancy!”

“Rory, are you going to hold my hair back or not? Because I don’t want puke hair.”

“Puking buddies it is, sister,” says Rory, offering her fist.

Paris tries to fist bump her a few times, then gives up and kind of just wraps her fingers over Rory’s fist like they’re playing rock-paper-scissors and Paris just chose paper and triumphed. Her fingers feel nice.

“We can take turns,” Paris says. “Toilet sharing is caring.”

“And when we’re not puking, we can sit in front of the TV,” Rory says. “And wear pajamas all day. And watch dumb stuff and not feel bad about it because we _already_ feel so bad that it’s impossible to feel worse. Goodbye Charlie Rose, hello Grey’s Anatomy.”

Paris huffs. “Don’t talk to me about Grey’s Anatomy and the pall it’s cast over the medical profession. I swear, if one of my fellow interns tries to pull me into a supply closet and get sexy, I will choke a bitch. I already caught one guy monologuing to himself. Out loud. Scrubs can suck it.”

"I like Scrubs,” Rory protests.

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t if you’d seen what I’d seen.”

“Sorry, sorry. Glee, then. Or something with lusty vampires. Hey. When was the last time we were this drunk?”

“Spring Break. I kissed you I was so drunk.”

“Nuh uh.” Rory tries to shake a finger. It is embarrassingly difficult. “Don’t do that. You weren’t even drunk. You were just … Paris. Just being Paris.”

“I was not,” Paris says blearily. “Paris doesn’t want to kiss Rory.”

“I didn’t mean that.” Rory feels herself blushing. So stupid! It must be the demon juice. “I just meant — you know, it was very Paris. Seizing the day. Doing something crazy to win at life.”

“If I’d known you would hate it so much you’d be complaining about it years later, believe me, I would have kept my lips away from the Rory zone.” Maybe it is just Rory’s super drunkness talking, but Paris seems kind of sad.

Something about that makes Rory say, “I didn’t  _hate it_. I just— it was … we’re friends. Friends don’t do the kissing.”

“Right,” says Paris.

Suddenly, everything seems gloomy.

“Wait, no!” Rory says, to liven things up. “It wasn’t Spring Break. It was the Founder’s Day Punch. I was sad about Logan, you were sad about Doyle … boom. Punched.”

“For two brilliant women, we’ve wasted a lot of time being sad about inferior menfolk,” Paris reflects.

“They weren’t so inferior,” Rory says fairly.

“Neither of them are here anymore, are they?”

“Good point,” says Rory.

“You’re still here and I’m still here,” Paris says drowsily. “That’s all that matters.”

“You’re the paper to my rock,” Rory vows.

“What?”

“It’s a good thing. Promise.”

“Whatever, weirdo,” Paris says, and falls asleep.

Once Paris’s breathing has gotten all calm and restful, Rory kisses her on the cheek.

“Mmmpghhh,” says Paris, eyes still closed, but she sounds happy.

They’re not quite even yet, but it’s a start.

 


End file.
